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Claudia hummed as she folded up her clothes. Back in her room, after a hot shower and plenty of scrubbing, she felt hopeful. Happy, even.
Something about the lewd display in the basement of the ship had set her motor running. The way Blaine had watched her—captivated, like a slave to her movements—confirmed something deep inside. She wanted him, for more reasons than she could understand. Beyond all the confusing unknowns of this crazy situation, onboard this crazy ship.
She’d never been able to dance like that for any of her past boyfriends. Hell no. There was something about the way he watched her that pushed her to the limit. His gaze was molten, prodding her to wow him, to make him want her.
The shower water was a low hum in the background as Blaine finished up in there. They’d returned to her room without much conversation—clearly the dance weighed heavily on him—and she’d opted for the rinse-off almost immediately.
Like it might clear her head. Make her stop wondering what it might feel like to have his hands scorch their way over her body. To push his lips against hers, or even push his fingers inside her pussy and make him feel how wet he’d made her during that dance. The way she’d be able to take all of him inside her.
She sighed. Cool it, Claudia. Those thoughts helped no one. Especially when they were less than a day away from getting to dry land and resuming life as normal. A normal that didn’t include hunky, cut rescuers with perfectly cropped hair and thick hands that could make her weep from desire.
Blaine coughed from inside the bathroom. The back of her neck prickled—would it be so wrong just to fuck him once and see what it’s like?—and she stuffed the last of her folded clothes inside her backpack. Tomorrow, they’d be back in Croatia. She’d be free. He’d be gone. Or something. Life as normal continues.
The doorknob jiggled and she bit back a grin, eager to see him in just a towel. Maybe he’d let it slip off.
Quiet steps in the room. A hand on her shoulder. She froze; something wasn’t right. The water was still running.
The hand spun her around hard and the leer of a strange man waited for her, his tongue poking out between dry lips.
“There you are,” he hissed, pushing her against the edge of the bed. It was the man from the basement—grotesque and strange from so close, his eyes reflecting dark depravity. He pinned her to the bed and panic filled her, made her rigid and mute.
“I couldn’t believe the way you moved down there.” He ground his groin against her, between her legs, his breath like sulfur. “You move too good, baby. I know you want me. So I came to give it to you.”
She found her voice and yelped, but he clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth. She screamed into his palm, almost no sound escaping. Blaine! Blaine! BLAINE! He had to hear this—hear something—and come out. Her mind raced so fast she couldn’t see past this man, couldn’t hear past him either. Couldn’t tell if the water ran or not. Couldn’t tell if seconds had passed or maybe hours.
Blaine help come save me come save me.
The man held her mouth shut while he reached down with his other hand to unbuckle his belt. His eyes were beady and crazed as he jangled his belt open. Zzzzip. The noise grated on her and she fought against him, kicking, the real possibility of this heinous act pushing her to flail.
He leaned against her, pinning her leg beneath him, swearing as he freed his dick from his pants. She screamed harder against his palm and thrashed as hard as she could, until her vision went spotty. The heat of his hand was acrid, tangy. The most disgusting stench she’d ever smelled. Tears dribbled down the sides of her face. Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine please.
The man laughed low and looked down between them. She kicked and thrashed more, but he shushed her, as though soothing her.
“This is what you wanted,” he murmured, yanking her pajama bottoms down. She screamed harder into his hand, until her throat burned. “This is what you were asking for when you danced like that.”
The door to the bathroom flung open; there was a gruff shout, and then a second later the man lifted off of her. She gasped for air, fresh and nourishing, the most relieving source of joy she’d ever experienced. A half-naked Blaine threw the man onto the floor, pinning him there with his knees.
The bald man could only gasp before Blaine let loose a storm of punches; Claudia recoiled to the far side of the bed, knees to her chest, struggling to calm the adrenaline streaking through her. Panic flowed freely alongside relief; he almost raped you; Blaine saved you. It ran like a marquee through her mind as she struggled to ground herself, to calm even slightly.
Punches echoed through the room and she couldn’t bear to look. Blaine grunted as he pummeled the intruder; after a few moments, there was a break, Blaine heaving from the exertion.
Claudia peered over the edge of the bed. The bald man was a bloody, indecipherable mess. His face was entirely bust open. Blaine stared down at him, his fists mangled and bloody.
“Blaine,” she said.
He twisted to look at her, his face raw and strange in the aftermath. His chest heaved as he drew quick breaths.
“He almost hurt you.” His voice came out small.
“I know.” She scrambled to the edge of the bed, reaching for him. The man didn’t move beneath him; not even a peep or a groan. Her gut twisted. This is bad. This is really bad. “You saved me.”
Blaine swallowed and brought the heel of his palm to his forehead. “He’s dead.” He came to his feet and then shifted onto the edge of the bed. Claudia’s gaze drifted to her attacker; a small part of her was deeply satisfied. Another was horrified that something like this could have unfolded onboard the ship. This was shit that happened in the movies. Not in her life.
“You saved me,” she repeated, curling up next to him. He pulled her into his arms, the scent of soap mingling with the sweat of his exertion. Her mind spun. Nothing made sense.
“That’s why I wanted to stay here tonight,” Blaine said, his voice distant. “To protect you. And he almost hurt you.”
“But he didn’t—”
“But it was on my watch.” His grip tightened around her and then suddenly she was in his lap. He squeezed his arms around her, his chest rising and falling as he calmed his breaths. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled back to meet his gaze, confusion mingling with admiration. There was a lot of emotion beneath the surface with Blaine—more than she’d expected. “You saved me, and I can never thank you enough.”
She stroked the side of his face with her thumb, searching out his gaze. His dark eyes met hers, hesitantly, and they watched each other for a few moments, electricity snapping in the air.
Blaine moved first—or maybe it was her—but it was enough to prompt them to fall toward each other, lips seeking lips, and then they were kissing. His mouth crushed against hers, desperate and warm. A dizzying kiss emerged, one that melted into another.
She whimpered, pressing herself harder against him, hooking an arm around his neck. Desperate to seal herself to him, to eliminate any distance between herself and her rescuer.
Her hero. Her Blaine.
They kissed until she broke for air. Foreheads pressed together, she drew ragged breaths, trying to still the storm inside her.
“Claudia,” he began, shifting beneath her. “I could kiss you like that all night.”
“Well why don’t you?”
He hefted with a small laugh. “Because we have to go.”
She straightened at his words. “What do you mean?”
Blaine’s eyes reflected confusion; maybe apprehension. “I killed him, Claudia. We can’t stick around.” He sighed tersely, assessing the unmoving corpse on the ground. “This guy was important here; maybe one of the organizers of the cruise. His men find out I killed him, they’ll kill me and finish what he started with you.”
Fear and understanding cut through her, leaving prickly trails inside. “Well what the fuck are we supposed to do? We won’t dock until tomorrow.”
Blaine’s jaw flexed as he studied the floor. “Do you have anything important with you?”
She creased her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Valuables, important documents, jewelry?”
She ran through the minimal list of belongings in her backpack. “No. Nothing. Just my passport.”
He jerked his head into a nod, shifting her onto the bed. “Good. Do you have a bathing suit with you?”
She nodded, watching him as he stepped over the man as he headed for the bathroom. His back muscles rippled as he turned on the faucet, putting his bloody hands beneath the spigot.
“Put that on,” he said, turning to talk to her but not looking away from his hands. “Wear form-fitting clothing, like leggings. A simple t-shirt.”
She rolled off the bed, tugging her backpack open. The unseeing eyes of the dead man stared at the ceiling, his mouth agape as though still protesting the assault. She shivered.
Claudia dug out the appropriate clothing from the depths of her bag and did a quick wardrobe change while Blaine tended his bloodied knuckles. When he came out into the bedroom, she was just tugging her t-shirt into place.
“Good.” He nodded, his gaze scorching up and down her body.
“You missed a spot.” She pushed at his sturdy bicep, guiding him back into the bathroom. At the sink, she reached for a damp washcloth, wetting it under warm water before dabbing at a few streaks of blood at his neck.
“Thanks,” he said, cracking a smile. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” She paused to rinse the washcloth out. “Least I could do for the man who saved me from that lecherous creep.”
Their eyes met in the mirror; something heavy passed between them. She swallowed, using the washcloth to smudge a few errant flecks of blood from his arm.
“Don’t you want to take a shower?” she asked.
“No need.” He reached for his t-shirt on the counter, tugging it over his head. “But we should go. Now.”
She nodded, mind swirling with questions. There was only one way off the ship that required zero valuables and a bathing suit. She was hesitant to entertain it, but the knowledge swirled inside her. I can’t believe this is happening. This has to be a dream. You’ll wake up soon.
“Um...shoes?” She toed at a pair of flats, looking up at him.
He shook his head. “Leave ‘em.”
“Passport?”
“You can get a new one when we land.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, frowning as he tapped and swiped at something. A few moments later, he pocketed it. “Let’s go.”
Blaine led her out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind them quietly. Looking both ways for any passers-by, he jerked his head to the left and she followed him, tip-toeing like a teenager after curfew. Her heart hammered between her ears. Blaine advanced stealthily, assuredly. She fought to keep up with him as he took the stairs two at a time.
When they burst through the doors onto the mid-deck, he followed a strange, sinuous path toward the center of the ship. They passed hardly anyone—apparently everyone was either fucking or sleeping—and he slowed only when they reached a deck toward the back of the ship.
Blaine gripped the railing, scanning the horizon. The air was warm, but who knew what the water below might be like. The salty wind whipped his hair into tufts. She moved some stands of her own hair that got caught in her mouth.
“What now?”
He blinked, then checked his phone again. He drew a long breath.
“It’s time.” He pocketed his phone, grabbing her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Her breath caught in her throat; the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.
“I-I...”
“Do you trust me?” He repeated it slower, more firmly.
“Yes,” she forced out. “Yes, I trust you.”
He nodded and started climbing the railing. Panic gripped her, rooted her to her spot. He straddled the railing and turned to her, offering his hand.
“We have to,” he said, his voice low. “But only if you trust me.”
She swallowed hard. Like there was any other option for her. Like she could walk any other path than this. Your would-be rapist is dead in your room and the rest of the ship is full of sex-hungry creeps. The choice is clear.
Taking his hand, she climbed the railing with shaky legs, straddling it just like he did. The ocean churned inky black beneath them, noisy and choppy, a sliver moon reflecting weakly off the water.
“I’ll get on the other side now,” he said, his voice low. He maneuvered carefully, his thick hands gripping tight onto the railing. When he was on the other side, he offered a hand, his biceps flexing with the strain of hanging on.
“Your turn.”
She forced herself to move, to bring her other leg onto the ocean side, to face chest-out into the salty, open air where nothing waited for them, only water and oblivion.
“We’ll jump together,” he said. “Hold my hand, and don’t let go.”
She nodded, eyes on the churning water below. “But won’t the ship pull us in?”
“We’re going to jump far,” he said, watching her so intensely it practically burned her. “We’re jumping in the opposite direction of the ship. It will be cruising away from us. But you need to swim hard once we land.”
She nodded again. “Okay.”
He grabbed her hand again, his grip ironclad. “Do you trust me?”
She gulped, unable to rip her eyes from the scary dark water. Unable to wonder if the water would hit her like knives and needles or like ice and glass. “I trust you!”
“On the count of three,” he said. “One. Two. Three.”
He bent his knees and launched himself forward. With a yelp, she leapt with him, her legs like jello, and salty air slicing through her lungs.
The freefall lasted a few glorious, breathless moments. The exhilaration nearly suffocated her.
And then the water hit.
They crashed through the surface in a painful splash.
It hit like glass and everything turned dark.